Our Bureau
SHILLONG/JOWAI, Feb 9: A massive dynamite blast shattered the silence of the remote Mynsyngat-Thangsko forest in East Jaintia Hills on February 5, killing 30 coal miners, mostly migrants, and leaving nine others gravely injured. The explosion in an illegal rat-hole mine has not only claimed lives but has torn open a wound of systemic negligence, corruption allegations, and institutional paralysis that allowed hundreds of migrant workers and makeshift labour camps to operate undetected for years in a constitutionally protected Sixth Schedule territory.
The scale of the illegal operation stunned even seasoned observers. More than 200 migrant labourers-turned-miners and suspected outsiders from Assam, Nepal, and beyond—were reportedly working and living in temporary huts erected deep inside the forest, three hours’ walk from the nearest village. These flimsy structures, along with the mining shafts themselves, somehow escaped the notice of the very bodies tasked with preventing exactly this kind of activity.
The finger-pointing has been swift and widespread. The Jaintia Hills Autonomous District Council (JHADC), the district administration, the Labour Department, traditional institutions, and the Meghalaya Police all face serious questions about how such a large, visible illegal enterprise could flourish under their collective watch.
Under Meghalaya’s laws governing the Sixth Schedule areas, no non-tribal worker can be employed without three critical documents: valid identity proof, a No Objection Certificate (NOC) from the concerned traditional headman or dorbar, and a labour licence—now officially renamed Non-Tribal Employee Services Licence—issued jointly by the JHADC and the state Labour Department.
Yet the presence of so many outsiders, many without any paperwork, points to either spectacular incompetence or deliberate collusion.
Allegations of complicity run deep. Locals and activists claim that JHADC officials, Labour inspectors, traditional leaders, police personnel, and even some political figures turned a blind eye—perhaps in exchange for a share of the coal profits. The police, in particular, stand accused of routinely ignoring trucks laden with illegally extracted coal using forest tracks toward Assam and beyond.
JHADC Deputy Chief Executive Member Lasky Rymbai did not deny the existence of illegal mining in the area. Speaking candidly, he admitted that the labourers almost certainly lacked proper licences. Explaining the council’s failure to detect the site, he pointed to its extreme isolation.
“The mining was taking place deep inside forest areas, around three hours away from the nearest village,” Rymbai said. “If these structures were located within a few kilometres of residential villages, we would have known.”
He insisted the council became aware of the makeshift huts only after the blast sent shockwaves through the community.
A senior JHADC licensing officer reinforced the same defence: the department had no prior intelligence about the existence of the mining site. “It is many kilometres away from inhabited villages,” the officer said, underscoring how remoteness became a cover for illegality.
East Jaintia Hills Superintendent of Police Vikash Kumar was more measured but did not deny possible lapses. “There could have been oversights in detecting the presence of temporary structures and illegal migrant workers,” he conceded.
Kumar announced that a long-term, multi-pronged strategy is now being prepared to prevent illegal coal extraction, stop illicit transportation, dismantle labour camps linked to banned mining, and establish a robust mechanism to verify the identity and origin of suspected migrant workers—whether from Assam, Nepal, Bangladesh, or elsewhere.
“I am trying my best to deal with this issue with the limited resources available,” the SP said, a statement that drew quiet scepticism from those who have watched similar promises fade after earlier tragedies.
Commissioner of Labour Jagdish Chelani faced pointed questions about the absence of surprise inspections in known illegal mining zones. He could not immediately confirm whether such checks had recently taken place in East Jaintia Hills, explaining that he did not have the inspection data at hand. Still, he insisted that “inspections and surprise checks are part of the department’s mandate and are conducted regularly across all districts under existing labour laws.”
Chelani was firm on one point: no government authority “allows” outsiders or suspected illegal immigrants to work without valid licences and documents. “The very fact that these workers are illegal means they have not followed the required procedures for entering the state as labourers,” he said. “That is why they are termed illegal.” He added that strict penalties are imposed whenever violations are detected.
Regarding the victims—many believed to hail from Assam, Nepal, and Bangladesh—Chelani said the Labour Department is urgently verifying whether they were registered labourers or legally present in Meghalaya. Compensation eligibility hinges on that determination. “Since the matter is under judicial process, we want to be fully prepared,” he explained.
In light of the tragedy and mounting reports of unregistered migrant labour, the department has directed its field officers to conduct a thorough, special enquiry into labour conditions, compliance, and violations at the Mynsyngat site. “This is a special case because of the loss of lives,” Chelani stressed. “We have asked our offices to examine labour-related aspects thoroughly and report on what went wrong.”
Even pressure groups, vocal on influx and railway issues, have come under scrutiny for their relative silence before the blast. KSU president Lambokstarwell Marngar defended his organisation’s record, saying the KSU has consistently demanded stronger laws to prevent illegal influx. He noted a grim pattern: once migrants enter and settle, they are gradually accepted as locals, making enforcement harder.
Marngar reminded everyone that the National Green Tribunal banned rat-hole coal mining across Meghalaya in 2014 and that the KSU had repeatedly called for scientific, regulated alternatives. “If the blast had not occurred, we might not have known that illegal mining was still going on,” he said pointedly, adding that it is now the government’s responsibility to explain how mining continued despite the ban. He confirmed that the KSU carries out verification drives whenever credible information about illegal migrants is received.
JNC president Sambormi Lyngdoh offered a different perspective. He explained that most of the affected mining areas fall under Elaka Sutnga, a traditional jurisdiction where outside organisations—including pressure groups—are often barred from entering without permission. “The Elaka authorities operate independently,” Lyngdoh said. Moreover, the mines lie deep inside dense forests, and entering without adequate security is extremely dangerous.
The Thangsko blast is only the latest chapter in Meghalaya’s long, tragic saga of banned yet stubbornly persistent rat-hole mining. For the families of the 30 men who lost their lives, those questions can no longer wait for another tragedy to force an answer.
